Falling out
This poem is sOo melancholic. Reading it, I can almost feel the dull (Nothing falls tonight) ache, the stillness of his heart, and how he says yes no ask me tomorrow of whomever thought this up. Last Night Walking Away
-Vincenz C. Serrano
No pain.
Not even trying to feel. Just this dark sky without a sound.
Just these gray cirrus clouds,
like ash.
Walking away I think
of the flowers you had given me,
fallen flowers you would pick from the sidewalk
and wear on your hair: such flametree delight,
such buttercup joy. Now the flowers
are in a wooden box. The last time
I opened the lid, the petals were brown
and scentless but I could not throw them away.
Now I can think
of everything: seashells, sunset love,
how your hands held me,
how your mouth took me in so deep. A slate blue
sea. Books. Falling stars.
But nothing falls tonight,
nothing is thrown away; the July leaves
are asleep and the saddest stars are in place.
The clouds do not breathe. The sky refuses
to sing. Even the dust is calm,
does not suffer.
Strange. I can't feel
a thing. I've hidden myself
in my words. Can build a strong fortress,
really, these things. Wordbrick upon wordbrick -
yes no ask me tomorrow and maybe I'll love you
and I know how safe I am. Images, what mortar.
Walls, how high. Flowers can't enter. Seashells
are shut out. Kisses can't get in.
I can't get you in.
My drunken delight with the moon. I've lost you in the safest syn-
tax somewhere, in that Gehenna between me and the moon.
I've shut everything out with
so many words. So safe.
Nothing moves. Not even
a whirligig pain. Nothing moves. Not even the memory
of your tears. Your cry frozen on your face,
like in those victims of violent deaths. 3
Sorry. I must
destroy my fortress of words and finally learn
how to speak. Hate be the battered ram.
Maddest skies be th armies to raid me.
Footsteps bring me no pain. Now the night
comes and I am a bruise passing through -
not a slash, not a welt -
blue-gray and bitter.
Not even lightning. Someday
when this is all over and I am in pain,
I can love you again.
Someday, when I'm feeling better, I'll return.
But tonight, falling out of your love
and walking under the trees,
I am mostly silence,
mostly real and empty,
mostly like the moon.
How I wish you could wound me.
-Vincenz C. Serrano
No pain.
Not even trying to feel. Just this dark sky without a sound.
Just these gray cirrus clouds,
like ash.
Walking away I think
of the flowers you had given me,
fallen flowers you would pick from the sidewalk
and wear on your hair: such flametree delight,
such buttercup joy. Now the flowers
are in a wooden box. The last time
I opened the lid, the petals were brown
and scentless but I could not throw them away.
Now I can think
of everything: seashells, sunset love,
how your hands held me,
how your mouth took me in so deep. A slate blue
sea. Books. Falling stars.
But nothing falls tonight,
nothing is thrown away; the July leaves
are asleep and the saddest stars are in place.
The clouds do not breathe. The sky refuses
to sing. Even the dust is calm,
does not suffer.
Strange. I can't feel
a thing. I've hidden myself
in my words. Can build a strong fortress,
really, these things. Wordbrick upon wordbrick -
yes no ask me tomorrow and maybe I'll love you
and I know how safe I am. Images, what mortar.
Walls, how high. Flowers can't enter. Seashells
are shut out. Kisses can't get in.
I can't get you in.
My drunken delight with the moon. I've lost you in the safest syn-
tax somewhere, in that Gehenna between me and the moon.
I've shut everything out with
so many words. So safe.
Nothing moves. Not even
a whirligig pain. Nothing moves. Not even the memory
of your tears. Your cry frozen on your face,
like in those victims of violent deaths. 3
Sorry. I must
destroy my fortress of words and finally learn
how to speak. Hate be the battered ram.
Maddest skies be th armies to raid me.
Footsteps bring me no pain. Now the night
comes and I am a bruise passing through -
not a slash, not a welt -
blue-gray and bitter.
Not even lightning. Someday
when this is all over and I am in pain,
I can love you again.
Someday, when I'm feeling better, I'll return.
But tonight, falling out of your love
and walking under the trees,
I am mostly silence,
mostly real and empty,
mostly like the moon.
How I wish you could wound me.